3537 




ft ^o^ :1§^ "W •• 



LIGHTS AND 
SHADOWS 






J. C. SOLOMON 




RICHARD G. BADGER 

©ij* (gartjam $tta& 
BOSTON 



Copyright, 1913, by J. C. Solomon 



All Rights Reserved 

3 
\ 



ft 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



A350737 



TO 

MR. J. W. HARPER 

THIS VOLUME IS 

CORDIALLY INSCRIBED 

BY THE AUTHOR 



PREFACE 

In sending out this dear child of my brain, I 
breathe a prayer for a safe journey, and the ac- 
complishment of its mission of love. 

The public will kindly remember that the Child 
is tender and untrained in the ways of the world; 
will those, therefore, whom it may chance to meet 
deal with it gently? 

This little one of simple and unpretentious story 
has come to sing a song, not with artistic flourish, 
but out of a loving heart. 

Its haunts are in the woods, fields and along the 
murmuring streams. It basks in the sunlight — 
sometimes walks under the stars. It sings with the 
birds and revels amongst the flowers; it is a Child 
of Nature, and so is most at home away from the 
city and the crowded haunts of man. 

Much of the time it has a smile upon its face; 
on occasions it is even mirthful — yet not infre- 
quently there is a touch of pathos in its voice and 
a sweet sort of sadness in its messages. If this un- 
trained young singer, this new messenger to men, 
shall, with its simple story of love and peace, brush 
away a tear, provoke a smile, lift a burden, inspire 
a single life to nobler deeds, I shall be abundantly 
satisfied. 

J. C. Solomon 



FOREWORD 

These lays are songs from a poet's heart, sung 
to the hearts of all who love their homes, their 
state and their fellow-men. May their music float 
afar, " blessing Him that gives and Him that 
takes." 

Jno. F. Purser 

March 10, 1913. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Honeysuckles n 

The Dainty Little Darling 12 

A Cry for Help 14 

They Tell Us It Won't Prohibit 16 

The Heart's Sad Lament 17 

Ghosts 18 

The First Song Bird 20 

A Little Child Gathering Roses 21 

She Heard the Angels Calling 23 

The Miser 26 

Ellinor, or the Saving of '49 28 

The Boy and the Bar 32 

Two Little Mice 35 

The Lord My Guide -39 

Papa's Little Ruth 40 

Life Is What We Make It 41 

Good Times in Georgy 43 

The Dear Old Girl from the Piedmont ... 44 

De Comic 46 

I Am Not as Young as I Used to Be . . . .48 

With the Pilot 51 

Lines on the Death of Margaret Anderson . . 52 

Save Tallulah 54 

The Great White Plague 57 

Newton 59 

Easter Morning 61 

The Broken-Hearted 65 

Ol' Mammy's Lullaby 67 

The Old Mill at the Famous Indian Springs in 

Georgia 69 

A Wild Ride for the Train 71 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

After Winter — Spring 73 

Lines Written on Rev. C. L. Thompson ... 76 

Hattie 78 

Lucille 78 

Kathleen 78 

Cleo 79 

Sarah Elizabeth 79 

Julia 80 

Louise 81 

Irene 81 

When the Violets Bloom Again 82 

Out of the Depths 84 

The Big Apple Tree 87 

His Fiftieth Birthday 89 

His Baby's Birthday 94 

Doctor Nitch 96 

Evangelist Frank Jackson 97 

A Plea for the Good and the True 98 

Tt Matters not how Dark the Way .... 100 

His Cleansing Blood 102 

Lines to Prof. M. M. Hargrove 104 

The Mist 105 

The Bewitching Maid 106 

The Evening Zephyr 107 

Good Night to Margaret 108 

Little Jim 112 

Sleep On 114 

Lines on Broughton Going to London . . .116 

A Mother's Lament 119 

To a Young Mother Who Has Lost Her Child . 120 

Whosoever Shall Call 122 

Lines to Two Indian Streams 124 

A Little Bunch of Violets 126 

My Pretty Little Girl 127 

Just a Little Flower 129 

Who! Who! 130 

The World's First Yuletide 132 

Christ-Given Rest 134 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 



HONEYSUCKLES 

High o'er the wall, 
O'er bush and all, 
The honeysuckles grew; 
Each morning fair 
They seemed more rare, 
Fragrant as e'er I knew. 

At evening hour, 

Fairest flower, 

Bathed in softest sunlight, — 

Not more divine, 

Both mine and thine, 

Than honeysuckles white. 

Each summer breeze, 
Through vines and trees, 
Brought a sweet ladened breath: 
Drove 'way sadness, 
Filled with gladness 
My honeysuckle heath. 

The sparkling dew 

Of richest hue 

Shone in the sweet breathed dell, 

And song birds rare 

Just filled the air 

With notes that rose and fell. 



Oh, these rare days 

And sweet, soft lays 

Of birds and lovers, when 

Sweethearts were true, 

Soft as the dew, 

In the honeysuckle glen. 



THE DAINTY LITTLE DARLING 

She was a dainty little darling, 

So bright and chipper, too, 
That she set every heart a-tingling 

With gladness bright as dew. 

Her eyes were bewitching, so bright and true, 

Her manner debonair; 
Like sparkling stars in far-off skies of blue 

She sparkled ev'rywhere. 

Her pretty cheeks glowed like the roses red, 

Her voice rang like a chime, 
And pretty curls like pictures on her head 

Gave tinge of gold to time. 

When her happy voice rang out on the 
breeze — 
Laughter so sweet and wild, 
Fair warblers were provoked in leafy trees 
To join the happy child. 
12 



Oh, so innocent and so free from care, 

This prettiest of girls 
Basked in the sunshine, sported in the air, 

With dimples and with curls. 

She waded in the branch, skipped through 
the rye, 

Set the world a-singing, 
Vying with the lark soaring to the sky, 

Singing and a-swinging. 

So let the old world just sing a new song, 

And sing it with the child, 
Who sang it with the birds the whole day 
long, 

Sang it so sweet and wild. 



13 



A CRY FOR HELP 

Lord, give me patience with my fellow-man, 

And do not let me fret or pine. 
Oh, teach me how to suffer and to wait, 

Give me patience almost divine. 

Hold me, Master, close to Thy loving heart, 
Lest I murmur, lest I complain, 

And though I feel the stinging of the dart, 
Give me grace to smile through my pain. 

I am too weak, dear Lord, to stand alone, 
I cannot fight this battle through, 

I'm so human, so unlike Thee, I own, 
So hold me, Lord, help me anew. 

Sometimes anger rages within my breast, 
And sometimes scorn upon my face — 

Sometimes there oozes out my soul's sweet rest, 
Lord, give me grace, sustaining grace. 

My heart's wildest cry in the stormy night, 
When injustice is heaped upon me, 

Is help me, Good Master, to do the right, 
And lean lovingly upon Thee. 



14 



Do not let the words hot and bitter fall, 
But hold tight the onrushing tide, 

For Thou alone can keep me all in all, 
Oh, walk Thou, Master, by my side. 

Good Lord, if another should treat me ill, 
And should provoke my soul to wrath, 

Then lay Thy peaceful hand upon me till 
I find again the quiet path. 

And do not let me, Lord, another hate, 
But give me softer words to say, 

And though I suffer let me learn to wait 
For the coming of the gladder day. 

So ever hold me, Lord, ever lead me, 
Till all the wrong shall yield to right, 

And then my soul shall rise to victory, 
As the day leaps out of the night. 



15 



THEY TELL US IT WON'T PROHIBIT 

They tell us it won't prohibit. 

Now don't you believe such rot, 
For we'll exercise the jibbet, 

Or give them the best we've got. 

'Tis the cry of the man of greed, 
'Tis the wail of the boozer; 

The liquor traffic feels its need 
And well knows it's the loser. 

Already the lid is on tight, 

And topers are awful dry, 
And prohibition looks so bright 

While the days are going by. 

John Barleycorn has had his day, 
And a vile old wretch was he, 

But his throne, so festive and gay, 
Is sunk deep down in the sea. 

The liquor fiend, outlawed at last, 
Is hunted just like the hare, 

And if he's caught, oh, my, the blast 
That'll lift him high in the air. 

You'd better go mighty slow, 

Just feel your way through Georgie, 

For you'll know the " prohi " woe 
Worse than the midnight orgie. 
16 



THE HEART'S SAD LAMENT 

My life, like the rose, opened fair, 
And smiled at the morning sky, 
And promised to bloom rich and rare; 
But alas, was doomed to die. 
The rose gave out its odor sweet, 
And fell down at the trav'ler's feet, 
Living, dying, blessed land and sea, 
But what blessing has gone from me? 

My life is like the poor, frail leaf, 
Severed from its parent stem, 
Is driven by a gust of wind, 
And mourned for the absent limb. 
But earth is richer by its fall, 
And carpet soft is made for all, 
But my life's so barren, you see, 
Nobody's blest nor praises me. 

My life's like the print on the shore, 
Stamped there by the foot of man, 
Washed out by oceans evermore, 
Made smooth like the untrodden sand. 
But footprints wet with ocean brine 
Have their mem'ries of sacred shrine, 
And the low, sad mourn of the sea; 
But alas, who'll ever mourn for me? 



17 



GHOSTS 

Say, dere, honey, is yer ever seed er ghost, 

A sho' 'nuf ghost 'way down in de dark grave- 
yard? 
Well, Fse seed 'em, an' dey skeered me ter deaf, 
mos', 
An' I run till I wuz out of bref, I run so hard. 

Dey des look skerry — looks at yer kuis like, 
An' dey's got de longes' arms and big red eyes 

An' dey walks mos'ly atter midnight, dey do, 
When it am dark and dere ain't no bright skies. 

An' dey hand is long and boney and dey's pale, 
An' dey bodies look lak May poles, dey's so tall, 

An' dey looks so fierce yer heart is gwinter fail, 
Ef yo' doan look sharp right dar yer gwinter fall. 

I tells yer, honey, dem ghosts and sperrits 

Whut des walks 'ebout in de graveyard down dar 

Makes de cold chills run all ober yo' body, 

An' yo' des wonders 'bout de jedgment and whar 

Yo' gwine when dem ghosts gits dey hands on yer 
Kase dey sho' is awful and des like a hant, 

An' dey looks at yer and lif's up dem boney hands 
An' de reason yer doan fly is kase yer can't. 

An' sometimes as I goes 'long by de roadside, 
Walkin' all by mersef in de dark, cold night, 



I hears de win' whistlin' an' some one tuk an' 

cried — 
De way I run, honey, wuz a mighty sight. 

Den while de cold, drizzlin' rain am comin' down 
An' de sad win' dey keeps on a-moanin', 

Den de ghostes and sperrits am walkin' 'roun', 
An' now an' den yer kin hear 'em groanin'. 

Yet dar is some folks dat ses dar ain't no hants, 
Dat doan matter, child, kase some folks can't see 
ghosts, 

But de ghosts dress in petticoats or in pants 

Sometimes run at yer, sometimes stan' like posts. 

But it doan matter, honey, whar dey's at, 

Kase, chile, ef yer see one yer ain't gwiner fergit, 

Fer dey will skeer yer wus dan any black cat 
Ef yer sees 'em comin' better hit de grit. 

Look here, chile, see all de bruises on mer face, 
An' does yer see all dese gray hairs on mer haid? 

Well, I tells yer, dey corns about from de race 
Wid de ghosts till dis old nigger is mos' dead. 

Well, honey, dis las' word 'fore I ses good night, 
An' ef I's wrong de good Lawd done fergibben ; 

Dar's ghosts in de dark but no ghosts in de light, 
An' dar's ghosts on earth but no ghosts in heben. 



19 



THE FIRST SONG BIRD 



A little bird sang after the snow was over, 

The yellow sunshine came down a sea of glory, 

There was in the air a sweet scent like that of clover 
Breathing of the Springtime and the lover's story. 



And still the sweet bird just kept on singing, 
Till all the air and woods were filled with melody, 

And ev'ry leafy tree just kept on a-swinging 
With the rhythm of the storm in glad harmony. 



The bird knew no other note than that of gladness, 
Warbled in gratitude its mighty Maker's praise, 

Sang so merrily and sang away all sadness, 

How wonderful, how welcome, these midwinter 
days. 



So sing on your song, sweet bird, oh, sing it to me, 
Sing till the world shall wake to thy message of 
love ; 
Myriad hearts shall wait on thy sweet minstrelsy 
And sing again and thrill with glad notes from 
above. 

20 



A LITTLE CHILD GATHERING ROSES 

I saw a beautiful child as the sun went down, 
With a sweet, sunny face and glossy hair and brown, 
Pluck the beautiful roses and toss them in the air, 
And heard her laughter, and her laughter was so 

rare. 
Her face was all aglow with the golden sunbeams, 
And the child was radiant with her sweet day- 
dreams ; 
She had such a charm, such abandon, and such 

grace, 
The air of sweet innocence and an angel's face. 

She was all alone with God and nature in tune 
In the balmiest evening a fine day in June ; 
The birds were singing softly their sweet rounde- 
lays, 
And the sun was casting his mellowest gold rays, 
And the beautiful old world was now all aglow, 
Bathed by the softest twilight and kissed by the bow 
Now fading in the skies with its last ling'ring hues 
And dying with the day. Oh, what enchanting 
views! 

Ah, the face of that child was a beautiful dream, 
And her laughter and manner and all, they did 

seem 
So unearthly and so heavenly and so rare 
That the angels seemed hov'ring 'round her ev'ry- 

where. 

21 



I thought as I gazed on this wonderful child 
With the sunniest face and with laughter so wild, 
If only her beauty and her innocence would last, 
Endure time's decay and the world's withering blast, 
If only the gold so rich in her heart as now 
Might remain and the sunshine on her snow-white 
brow. 

Oh, happy little girl, may there ne'er come a blight 

To quench thy sunbeams nor quench thy stars in 
the night. 

But the day is done, and the warblers hushed to 
sleep, 

And o'er her rosy cheeks the gentle zephyrs sweep — 

And on the scattered rose leaves she gently reclines, 

Tired — so still, now dreaming 'neath her own 
Southern pines. 

Oh, it was a picture worth a life-time to see; 

May God keep the painting in His own treasury. 

Good night, beautiful child; may angels guard thee 
well, 

And name thee in that morning, heaven's immor- 
telle. 



SHE HEARD THE ANGELS CALLING 

'Twas just a little baby, 

A little baby girl, 
A dimpled darling baby, 

With pretty golden curl. 

She sat in her mother's lap, 

That stormy winter night, 
Listened to the howling wind, 

Looked on the glaring light. 

Her cheeks were like the peach blooms, 
Her eyes were like vi'lets blue, 

And her teeth like rows of pearl, 
Her heart tender and true. 

As mother looked in that face, 

That baby face so fair, 
There was not the slightest trace 

Of sorrow or of care. 

Once or twice the darling child 
Shivered on mother's breast, 

For the storm was driving wild, 
But soon she sank to rest. 

A sweet smile played o'er her mouth 

And o'er her dimples deep, 
As soft as zephyrs from the South — 

And now she's fast asleep. 

23 



So calm and so beautiful 
As baby lay there now, — 

Like an angel from heaven 

Had kissed her snow-white brow. 

The mother's face was beaming 
With joy almost divine. 

Wonder if child was dreaming, 
This sweet cherub o' mine? 

Dreaming of the better land 

And the shining river, 
Where the blessed silver strand 

Flows right on forever? 

Dreaming of fadeless flowers 
And children wondrous fair 

And golden streets and towers 
And angels everywhere? 

Dreaming of the emerald lawn, 
Of pretty birds and trees; 

Dreaming of the golden morn, 
So full of harmonies? 

Yes, dreaming of a playground, 
A playground in heaven, 

Where sorrow is never found 
And pain never given? 

24 



Just then shadows as of pain 

Fell o'er her baby face; 
And now sunshine's golden reign 

Had vanished every trace. 

Then she clinched her chubby fists, 
And from that low sad moan, 

There gathered the blinding mist 
In mother's eyes; her own — 

Her beautiful, darling child — 
Was tossing now with fright, 

And poor mother's heart was wild ■ 
Wild as the stormy night. 

Oh, look! see the crimson there, 
From the throat to the brow; 

It is the harbinger fair, 
Of death of life; and now 

A far-off look in her eye, 

A smile of wondrous peace, 

Told of angels in the sky, 
And baby's near release. 

Now with ruby lips ajar, 

She cries: "Hear 'em calling? 

And went where the angels are, 
While mother's tears are falling. 



^5 



THE MISER 

The Miser! Can anything be more metallic? 

The very name is hard and cold. 

Sadder still that he is growing old — 

The Miser writes his name in a big italic — 

And watch him hug his yellow gold. 

The Miser! why all the round world passes 

him by; 
For he is so selfish and mean, 
And he's so angular and lean. 
The Miser — watch his pinched face and 

gleaming eye — 
Himself a sad, foreboding scene. 

The Miser! he cares neither for man nor his 

God. 
All he cares is to sit and dream 
And gloat upon the gold's rich gleam, 
The Miser! and so he will while above the 

sod, — 
But sink at last in life's black stream. 

The Miser — he's a menace and a curse on 

earth, 
A stagnant and a deadly pool; 
A driv'ling and a cursed fool. 
The Miser! a freak and a failure from his 

birth; 
A constant blot on God's footstool. 
26 



The Miser! he is deaf to life's sweet harmonies, 

Of all the sounds both new and old, 

The sweetest is the clank of gold. 

The Miser! he is blind to green earth and 

smiling skies. 
All he sees is his idol, gold. 

The Miser! is he deaf and blind and dead to 

all? 
Where's his soul? O, who can tell? 
Failing on earth, ripening for hell, 
The Miser on the brink reeling, ready to fall, 
Deluded wretch, too late, farewell. 



27 



ELLINOR, OR THE SAVING OF '49 

Like the roaring of thunder " 49 " 

Came dashing down the mountain side; 

And on she thundered 'long the great Trunk 

Line, 
So grand, with throttle open wide. 
The earth trembled beneath her mighty wheels, 
And like a mighty demon mad 
The train went rushing o'er the pond'rous 

steels, 
As reckless as a reckless lad. 

It was dark that night; yes, utterly black, 
While driving storms fiercely wild 
Swept and howled 'cross the railroad track, 
While at the base of mountain piled 
Pond'rous trees and rocks and bridges heaped 

in mass, 
Hurled by the mountain torrent there, 
While the night yet was rent with deafening 

blast. 
But near the bridge a wail, a prayer — 

The train rocked and reeled, people blanched 

with fear! 
The fury of the storm was on. 
Brave was he, resolute the engineer; 
But it seemed that on him alone 
Hung the fate of every precious soul. 
28 



He wiped his brow that winter night, 
Trying hard his poor nerves to control, 
And praying for the morning light. 

It seemed now that every eye in his train 
Was burning on him like a flame. 
And every ashen cheek was shooting pain 
Into his poor quivering frame. 
Every tongue a fiery accusation, 
And every sob and every sigh 
Swelled into the wildest lamentation, 
Till it seemed that now he must die. 

But the iron horse, still belching fire, 
Thundering over the great steel rails, 
Coming nigh black doom — horribly nigher — 
A sick'ning wreck and sobs and wails, 
Just a half mile onward. Doom comes at last, 
And women's shrieks and children's screams, 
Mangled bodies and red blood running fast, 
In flames of fire, in red hot streams. 

" My God ! " the engineer cried in dismay. 
"And shall their blood be on my hands?" 
The sweat drops poured — he couldn't wipe 

them away — 
Worse than walking on blist'ring sands. 
He clutched at his throat and cried : " This 

is hell! 
My heart's on fire and I'm blind." 
29 



But just then a wild shriek, a cry, a yell 
Pealed forth above the howling wind. 

" The bridge is gone! the bridge! O, stop the 

train ! " 
And wildly waved his lantern red. 
And shriek after shriek, again and again, 
With his eyes burning in his head, 
He stood on the track and for mercy cried 
For a hundred passengers or more. 
But that demon mogul the storm defied, 
And seemed hungry for human gore. 

The lad fell on his knees and prayed to God 

To save the train e'er 'twas too late 

Else all must soon be sleeping 'neath the sod. 

Is this the irony of fate? 

Then suddenly the half-crazed engineer, 

'Waking as from a nightmare, 

Saw lad with lantern, saw that death was near, 

He too prayed in the cold night air. 

" O God ! I was late and was afraid lest 
I should crash 'gainst the west-bound train, 
So I ran like a demon — did my best — 
God let not my run be in vain, 
And save my train from the bridge all broken. 
O, shut the jaws of yawning death! " 
But scarce had the frantic words been spoken 
When he reeled and moaned — gasped for 
breath. 

30 



But he rallied quickly as lightning flash, 
And with strength of a giant brave, 
Reversed engine, turned on breaks with a dash, 
And said, "Almighty God, now save!" 
But O, horrors! the fallen lad was there! 
Cold with sweat of death on his brow. 
But he held his lantern and fell at prayer, 
Saved the train, was a martyr now! 

Between pulsing engine and black abyss 
The brave lad stood reeling, falling, 
Dying like a conqueror — Death like this 
To thousands will e'er be calling. 
The mad race was o'er and the train stood 

still — 
Just a hundred yards on this side 
The bridgeless chasm at the foot of the hill, — 
At the spot where the hero died. 

And they gave him a funeral so grand, 

Like of which they'd ne'er seen before. 

It was the costliest in all the land, 

A fit tribute to Ellinor. 

And they laid him down to his long sweet rest 

And wept grateful tears o'er his grave. 

Though the sod grows green o'er his peaceful 

breast, 
He conquered when his life he gave. 

But the fame of the lad went far abroad, 
And they told of his deed of love, 
3i 



And how much mightier than the sword 
Was martyr blood 'neath skies above. 
And where'er story of valor is told, 
Of mighty deeds almost divine, 
Oh, they tell the fragrant story of old, 
How the brave lad saved " 49." 



THE BOY AND THE BAR 

A boy went out from home one night 
Innocent and pure and sweet, 
With mother's kiss on brow so white 
And prayers for him on the street. 

She thought of his wee cradle bed, 
Of his dimple hands and face; 
Of laughing eyes and curly head, 
Ruby lips and childish grace. 

She was kneeling now at his side, 
Murmuring his name in prayer. 
If haply on life's rosy tide 
He might rise to deeds so fair. 

Visions now of the long ago 
Come stealing soft before her — 
Of baby smiling, dreaming so, 
Her soul is filled with wonder. 
32 



Jier loving eyes are on him still 
As his form now fades from view. 
Away from home, go where he will 
Her love follows warm and true. 

Will he e'er break this wondrous spell, 
And break a mother's heart too, 
And sound, alas! her own death-knell 
And blacken the skies of blue? 

But the tide it turned that first night — 
First night of the licensed bar. 
There fell on him an awful blight 
Like the fading of a star. 

Men said it was no harm to drink — 
Just to take a social glass, 
And it was cowardly to shrink 
From Freeman's rights, but alas! 

"Coward," did you say? No, never. 
And stood at the bar of doom 
Pouring rum down like a river — 
Standing 'neath death's own black gloom. 

Just then wild curses rent the air, 
And from pistol flash and lead 
A mother's hope has met despair, 
For a mother's boy was dead. 



33 



Who killed him? " Drunken fiend," you cry! 
Yes, in cold blood, fiendish crime! 
Who murdered him? Man 'hind the bar 
Who gave him drink, poison, slime. 

But other hands are dripping red, 
They come from pulpit and pew. 
The man who voted " license " said : 
" Here's death and hell to you!" 

O, how long will men preach and pray 
And vote to damn a brother? 
And shout out loud: " O, happy day! " 
And break the heart of mother. 

Men of the nation lift this shame; 
Remove the barroom blight, 
And give the country a clean name — 
This is manly, this is right. 



34 



TWO LITTLE MICE 

As I sat in my class-room one dark day 

I saw two little mice come out to play. 

They appeared so timid and were so shy 

That I hardly dared to lift up my eye. 

Out of tiny opening in the hearth-stone 

They thrust themselves and were suddenly gone. 

But for the little while they were with me 

I gazed on them and wonderful to see 

How God's creatures, be they never so small, 

Cling to life on this terrestrial ball. 

In their wee small heads were the brightest eyes 
That looked so cunning, so funny and wise. 
And their little gray sides rose and they fell, 
And like a weaver's shuttle, who could tell 
How quickly they moved o'er the hearthstone 

there, 
All the while sniffing the winter's crisp air. 
O, the slightest movement upon my part 
Would just make these pretty little rodents start 
And send them whirling to their cozy bed, 
Where they oft carried their meat and their 

bread. 
And down under the stones how safe they felt 
From the feline spring and the small boy's 

" pelt." 

I know how destructive rodents have proved — 
But somehow that day my heart was so moved 
35 



That I had no mind to strike the first blow. 

These pretty little mice I loved them so. 

How dear to their hearts must this big world be ; 

But a far way off they never can see. 

Only a tiny portion can they roam. 

" Be it e'er so humble " it's home, their home. 

Not far do they venture out in the day, 

For somehow it isn't little mousy's way. 

But at night she roves the pantry and hall; 

Roves the kitchen, garret and all. 

And sometimes venturing out too far, 

Is spied by kitty, and over the bar 

And over the pan and over the pail 

Kitty springs forward ; and O, what a wail ! 

And under kitty's paw there mousy dies. 

Weak to confess, but my very soul sighs, 

For the world full of sunlight and starlight, 

Flecked with shadows, is a beautiful sight. 

And God's many creatures, both great and small, 

Cling closely to life and are loath to fall. 

But e'er long the Grim Reaper, with his hook, 
O'er mountain and valley and each small nook, 
Comes stalking through with ominous tread, 
And with merciless hand levels the head 
And heaps them together, the high and low, 
In the common dust, in a humble row. 

But my two little friends pop up again, 
And each little rodent, lifting up his chin, 
36 



Seems this to say, " this boon we pray you, give 
Us our freedom and a chance to live; 
We don't mean to harm any mortal man, 
But only do, sir, as well as we can. 
If in the meal tub we sometimes go, 
Or cupboard, pantry or cellar below, 
We simply mean to get a good dinner, 
And don't you think, sir, any poor sinner 
Is well entitled to his daily bread? 
If with all his grit and brains in his head, 
He can with effort and energy too, 
Make his way forward and cut his way 
through ? " 

This speech was clever, the argument sound. 
Not the tiniest flaw could there be found, 
For who could deny a fellow his bread, 
Who labored both with his hand and his head. 
And the dear little mice just bounded on, 
As happy as a king upon his throne. 
So these creatures so tiny and dear 
Brought straightway my heart such wonderful 

cheer. 
And I've thought as I never thought before, 
And doubtless will think and think evermore. 
How precious is life to the living, all 
Clinging so fondly till the last great call, 
Reluctant to yield to the final blow, 
Passing under weal or out under woe. 
So let not a hand ruthlessly strike down 
37 



And destroy without thought at a single bound, 

A poor creature that has a right to live, 

And take from him that which you cannot give. 

At last each mousy just darted away, 

But sunshine had come that dark, gloomy day, 

And I was happier, I do declare, 

Since my visitors so small and fair 

Visited me at the old hearthstone; 

Came close to my heart; I called them my own. 

So if ever you come this way again, 

I bid you welcome. Yes, come in ! Come in ! 



38 



THE LORD MY GUIDE 

Lord, I know not which way to go. 

I have come to parting of the ways. 

O, make me Thy will, dear Lord, to know, 

Howe'er dark and dismal be the days. 

One wrong step, dear Lord, would hurt me so, 
I pray Thee not let me blunder now, 
But hold me and guide me here below; 
Make me at Thy feet to humbly bow. 

Lord, I'm helpless and the way is dark, 
And Thy face, dear Saviour, I would seek. 
If thou wouldst touch me, then like the lark, 
I would mount up on wings — Oh Lord, speak. 

Just to know Thy will and follow Thee. 
Then light my path, dear Lord ; make it plain, 
And whate'er my lot, dear Lord, may be, 
I'll praise Thee, whether in ease or pain. 

Master, if Thou dost not point the way; 
Master, if Thou dost not help Thy child, 
Then what confusion and what dismay 
Awaits his heart so lonely and wild. 

Give me patience. O, teach me to wait. 
But pity me, Lord, and hear my cry; 
And precious Saviour, ope wide the gate 
For me to enter land of the sky. 

39 



PAPA'S LITTLE RUTH 

Who has ruby lips and golden hair, 
And who has manners so debonair, 
And who has graces so rich and rare, 
And who has a face so sweet and fair? 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

Ah, who can say things bright and witty, 
And who's so charming and so pretty, 
And who can hum just such a ditty? 
She's the finest girl in the City. 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

Who brings us sunshine and makes us glad, 
Who revels in song, but sometimes mad, 
And who is so good 'cept when she's bad 
And who'll break his heart some day some 

lad? 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

Who floods the home with sunshine like this, 
Who's lips so puckered, just made to kiss, 
What angel has brought such happiness 
As this pouting, laughing, winsome miss? 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

Who beguiles dull hours, drives care away, 
Who romps through our hearts each blessed 
day, 

40 



Who lights our home with a golden ray, 
But never knows what she'll do or say? 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

God only knows how we love the child, 
Her pouting lips and laughter so wild, 
Her romping and her manner so mild. 
Was e'er there so strange and sweet 

child? 
'Tis papa's little Ruth. 

LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT 

This old life is what we make it 

And the world is as we take it. 

Good or bad, 

Glad or sad, 

Pray, then, let us not mistake it. 

The sunshine's falling on the hill, 

And sweetest flowers blooming still 

In the dell, 

How they tell 

Of fondest lovers' hearts they thrill. 

See the thorn, but the rose is there. 
Night is dark, but morn is fair. 
O, be bright, 
See the light, 

And gather songs now in the air. 
41 



O, hearts, do things sometimes go wrong? 

Is it a dirge and not a song? 

Don't despair! 

For somewhere 

Things will go right and 'twon't be long. 

The stars may fade out of the sky, 

And phantoms may walk so close by. 

Never fear, 

Have good cheer, 

And thou'lt part with many a sigh. 

The world sweet smiles will still be bring- 
ing, 
Let the joy-bells keep on ringing. 
Be aglow, 
Tell life so, 
And with the birds keep on singing. 



42 



GOOD TIMES IN GEORGY 

'Tis good times in Georgy 
When de schools done turned out 
And in de vacashun 
De chillun laugh an' shout. 

'Tis good times in Georgy, 
And de crops done laid by, 
And de watermilion shines 
In dat nigger's eye. 

'Tis good times in Georgy. 
De punkin's on de vine, 
De boy am whistlin' big 
And de fish am bitin' fine. 

'Tis good times in Georgy. 

De campmeetin' done cum 'round, 

And de shoutin' sinners 

Des all jump up an' down. 

'Tis good times in Georgy, 
Where 'ligion's b'ilin' high, 
An' folks is mighty peaceful, 
Lookin' up at de sky. 

'Tis good times in Georgy, 
Wid de sinner, saint and all. 
Will sinners sing and pray 
In de next comin' fall? 

43 



'Tis good times in Georgy, 
And de crops sho' am fine. 
And dis nigger's mouf waters 
Fer de milion on de vine. 

'Tis good times in Georgy, 
I hear de mighty shout. 
'Tis rest time in Georgy 
An' de nigger walk about. 

THE DEAR OLD GIRL FROM THE 
PIEDMONT 

It is so hard to please her, 
Whether you warm or freeze her; 
Whether you love or tease her, — 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

If you will, be sure she won't; 

If you do, be sure she don't; 

If you bobble, be sure she'll vaunt, — 

This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

Take every possible pain, 

In sunshine or in rain, 

To please her, she'll storm again, — 

This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

So do whatever you will, 
You can't please her; for still 
She's glad, or she's mad at will, 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 
44 



Times she's timid, times she's bold, 
Times she's hot and times she's cold, 
Times she's young, and times she's old,- 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

She's so demure and so sweet, 
And now she smiles on the street. 
But look sharp for your defeat, — 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

She can sing a lovely song, 
But can scold you loud and long. 
Oh, this awful, mad, ding-dong, — 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

When lit with smiles, her fine eyes, 
Color of the soft June skies, 
Bound to give at last surprise, — 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 

It matters not what comes or goes, 
In life's blessings or life's woes, 
She is ever strange. Who knows 
This dear old girl from Piedmont? 

Though so hard to understand, 
Though strangest girl in the land, 
Tell you, she can beat the band, — 
This dear old girl from the Piedmont. 



43 



DE COMIC 

Yer see dat comic Hf her head 

So fiery in de sky? 

An' bruch off de yearth wid her tail 

An' look savage out her eye? 

Now yer better git out her way, 
Fer sh' am comin' down de pike, 
A mile er minit ain't no whar, 
Nigger, better git on hike! 

She bring de snow in de Springtime, 
An' she bring de hail roun' too. 
She make yer shiver dound de line. 
Look, nigger, she's atter you! 

Dey call her " de tramp in the sky," 
An' she rise up way fo' day — 
Tail spread out an' blood in her eye, 
Des keep on lookin' dis way. 

Some say dis yearth's g'wine thru her tail, 
An' de sparks fly ev'ry whar. 
An' we all gwine ter burn an' burn 
Case — des lak er fallin' star — 

I seed her flash her tail one day — 
'Way long fo' de sun done riz — 
Look des lak she comin' dis way, 
An' I heerd sum'in buzz and siz. 

46 



Law, man, I sho' got off dat street, 
Dis nigger wuz runnin' some, 
'Case I knowed de jedgment's comin', 
An' I'se skeered dar wa'n't much room. 

Say, yer better git religion 
An' git on yer knees and pray, 
Fer dat comic'll show fin' you out, 
Des drap down on yer some day. 

Better pay up all dem rents, too — 
Let 'lone dem chickens on roost, 
Fer if she fin' a fedder 
Be worse den de calaboose. 

Run under bed er ter de swamp — 
Make no diffunce whar yer go, 
If yer ain't got 'ligion good and fas' 
De comic will git yer sho'. 



47 



I AM NOT AS YOUNG AS I USED 
TO BE 

I am not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough to love and live, 
Young enough to pray and give, 
Young enough to strive and wait 
For a better, sweeter state, 
Though it should come soon or late. 
And this brings gladness to me, 
Though I'm not as young as I used to be. 

I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough to remember, 
Young enough in December, 
Or in the sweet month of May, 
On a dark or sunny day, 
In life's smooth or rugged way 
Words of kindness said to me, 
And beautiful* deeds of sympathy. 

I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough to love my friends, 
Young enough to make amends, 
By the loving grace of God, 
As I walk the lowly sod, 
And o'er the hills slowly plod, 
And sing in life's minstrelsy, 
E'er praising God for His charity. 



48 



I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough with children fair, 
With sunny locks or raven hair, 
To gambol o'er the green lawn 
At soft eve or blushing morn, 
Or stirred by the hunter's horn 
To chase the deer, wild and free, 
Listening to the music of hounds you see. 

I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough to sing and pray; 
Young enough on this glad day 
To see the light in the clouds, 
The smile of life 'yond the shroud, 
Hear his voice, though soft or loud. 
Oh, blessed voice, 'tis for me 
Calling from far off land 'yond the sea. 

I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But young enough to aspire 
To the noblest, to admire 
The richest luster in the eye, 
Fairest painting in the sky, 
Mother's sweetest lullaby; 
Glow of cheeks and dimples see. 
Life's harp is swept by love's minstrelsy. 

I'm not as young as I used to be, 
But, Oh, life's purest, whitest snow; 
Oh, life's wondrous sunset glow, 
Such charm as in days of old, 
49 



Richer than great heaps of gold, 

Like a fragrant tale that's told, 

So dear to my heart and me. 

Some day I'll be young like I used to be. 



50 



WITH THE PILOT 

Till the Master comes I'll wait, 

Whether it be soon or late, 

For I know he'll bring blessings to me, 

And he'll fill my heart with ecstasy, 

And thrill me for all eternity, 

And after earth's poor estate 

I will go with Him through the Gate. 

O, sometimes it seems so long, 
Sometimes hard to sing the song, 
But time will pass and pass forever, 
And song burst forth like rushing river, 
And then our happy hearts shall quiver, 
O, my soul, it won't be long, 
When we'll stand in heaven's throng. 

Now we're standing at the Bar 
Nearing home and 'tis not far, 
For yonder across the swelling tide, 
On the shining shore th' other side, 
My Pilot shall lead and I'll abide 
By my Savior and my star, 
When I have passed o'er the Bar. 



51 



LINES WRITTEN 

ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MARGARET ANDERSON 

WHO WAS KILLED BY AN AUTOMOBILE 

ON THE STREETS OF ATLANTA. 

Good-bye, Margaret, dear, 
Sweet child of fondest love; 
We are so lonely here, 
Since thou wentst above. 

Thy passage was so swift, 
And the shock like keen darts; 
We need some hand to lift 
This burden off our hearts. 

We had thought to keep thee, 
Keep thee e'er, precious one. 
We loved thee, worshipped thee, 
But, alas, child, thou'rt gone! 

It was so cruel, child, 
To have thee snatched away. 
Our grief is deep and wild, 
And we sigh for thee to-day. 

In the early morning, 
With sunshine on thy face, 
Angels in the dawning, 
With smiling not a trace 



52 



Came, kissed our Margaret, 
And drove 'way all our fears; 
Bore her to heaven's gate, 
But left us bathed in tears. 

Home's not what it was, dear, 
With your voice clear and sweet: 
And silence is more drear, 
With silence of thy feet. 

Thy errands all done now, 
Books, too, are laid aside, 
And splendor wreathes thy brow, 
Since our Margaret died. 

Blood drops still are falling. 
For baby still we cry, 
Our hearts still are calling, 
For Marg'ret still we sigh. 

We'll try to be brave, dear, 
And look through mists away, 
And after night so drear 
We'll meet on God's sweet day. 



53 



SAVE TALLULAH 

Listen to the roaring waters! 

Save them for the sons and daughters, 

Thunder the eternal orders, 

Touch not Tallulah ! 

God hued her out of solid rock, 

Good enough for the proudest stock. 

How dare the cruel vandal mock 

This grand Tallulah? 

Afar down on her rugged breast, 

The maddened stream from crest to crest, 

Leaps and plunges, and ne'er at rest, 

Storm-swept Tallulah. 

Birds sing in the leafy bovvers, 

Richly bloom the rare wild flowers, 

And lovers keep these moonlit hours, 

Along Tallulah. 

O, mighty river, sing thy song, 
Wake the nations for centuries long, 
Curs'd the hand that would do thee wrong, 
Surging Tallulah. 

She is made to bless a world like this, 
Our poor lines into gladness kiss, 
And for millions we would not miss 
Our own Tallulah. 

It's a craven hand that would mar 
This glory-crowned spot known afar. 
54 



It's of God, as the angels are, 

Blessed Tallulah. 

The human heart is hard like stone, 

That would tear down this granite throne. 

Nation's play ground, nation's own, 

Lovely Tallulah. 

Let the people a nation wide, 

Rally around this wild woodside; 

And love her as a blushing bride, 

Smiling Tallulah. 

O, America, North and South, 

Take her honeyed name in their mouth, 

And swear for her never a drouth, 

Dear old Tallulah. 

Well may they come from lands afar, 
And glory in this brilliant star, 
More beauteous than golden bar, 
Stream of Tallulah. 
The Red Man in life's crimson glow, 
Worshipped her, reveled in her flow. 
Nor will the Pale Face let her go, 
Laughing Tallulah. 

For countless ages yet unborn, 
Down to the last and fadeless morn, 
Let this be our boast. Yea, our own 
Priceless Tallulah. 

God Almighty, with His own hand, 
55 



Put this crown on our dear Southland; 
Smiled on it, blessed it, let it stand, 
Peace crowned Tallulah. 

Ah, who for the love of gold, 

Would destroy this rich crown of old, 

Is blind to glories they unfold, 

Crags of Tallulah. 

Shall the soul of avarice dwell 

On this proud spot we love so well? 

Feast and fatten, God sounds its knell, 

At proud Tallulah. 

Patriots brave and true and all, 
Awake, now, to the trumpet call. 
Guard your birthright, the vandal's pall 
Is o'er Tallulah. 

Unsheathe your sword, ye freemen brave, 
Strike for your rights, strike hard and save, 
Proud inheritance which God gave, 
In great Tallulah. 

And may waters through silver throat 
Pour right onward in Thund'rous note; 
May her banner in triumph float 
E'er at Tallulah. 

And may the nation's sun go down 
At last upon her proud renown, 
And leave behind this matchless crown, 
Sun-kissed Tallulah. 
56 



THE GREAT WHITE PLAGUE 

You see the hectic flush on that sad, sweet face, 
You see those brilliant eyes with unearthly glare, 
You note the hacking cough, every painful trace, 
The wasting of a life so good and so fair. 

Oh, see the hollow chest, hear the breathing fast, 
See the sweat-drops standing on temple and brow. 
The tide is ebbing on, the flood'll soon be past. 
Hush! the bell is tolling; all is quiet now. 

And so a life slipped by, slowly faded 'way; 
Just slipped 'fore streaming eyes and heart beats so 

wild; 
Quietly sunk to rest at closing of day, 
Released at last, she sleeps like a little child. 

And so the Great White Plague, with a tyrant's 

hand, 
Is throttling its thousands with merciless grip, 
And stalks like a demon through a helpless land, 
His deadly cup at many a pallid lip. 

This Great White Plague, it is the dread of the 

world, 
With muffled tread it enters palace and hut 
Like conquering army with banner unfurled — 
Ah. to this ruthless monster what door is shut? 



57 



At his blighting touch, fairest roses have died, 
And the sweetest smiles have faded away, 
And myriads of hearts have sobbed and sighed, 
When starless night has taken place of the day. 

More fearful than scourge of fever and war; 
Deadliest menace to the children of men; 
Reeking blight and death on the nations afar. 
Where's the balm? Will healing ever come, and 
when? 

Ah, many a lovely life has paid the toll 

To this greedy and remorseless imp of death, 

And passed into eternity the poor soul, 

By the touch and the curse of its poisonous breath. 

Some sweet day, in the march of the nations grand, 
Let us hope these dire ravages, bye and bye — 
Ah, may the wisdom of men yet take its stand 
Against the White Plague. Oh, may the White 
Plague die! 



5« 



NEWTON 

I love the town of Newton well, 
Nestling down in a shady dell, 
Embellished by the lordly trees, 
And kissed by every passing breeze. 
Bathed and blessed by the rushing Flint, 
As to the sea, it's ever bent, 
And with its song this rolling river 
Sings right on, and sings forever. 

Free as the wind, so blythe and gay. 
Here children romp the livelong day, 
Here children laugh and romp the street, 
And through halls with pattering feet, 
And through city and human hearts 
They shoot their loving golden darts. 

Here flowers bloom and in the air 
You inhale their fragrance, rich and rare; 
And here with their sweet roundelays, 
Through all the long soft summer days, 
The feathered songsters throng the town, 
And scatter sunshine all around. 

And fair lovers here coo and woo, 
And lovers' hands and hearts pursue, 
As they stroll by the river side, 
In the shady dell, cool and wide, 
Looking into liquid eyes, 

59 



Wondrous as the soft June skies; 
Or into depths of brown so deep, 
Too sad to laugh, too glad to weep. 

Smiling welcome awaits thee here, 

Friend or stranger, far or near, 

Every home is a sure retreat 

For throbbing head or weary feet. 

My days in Newton, by the stream 

Of the murmuring Flint, all now seem 

A sweet and a delightful dream, 

As those mellow scenes o'er me beam. 

One sweet, one brief, one gentle song, 
But sung too quickly, passed along, 
And lives to-day in memory dear, 
Though far away, yet ever near. 

And every fondly passing breeze, 

From fragrant vines and waving trees, 

Brings back to me the lovely past, 

That thrills and throbs — too sweet to last. 

As birdies nestle in their nests, 
And wait and chirp and go to rest, 
So the memories of those days, 
As peaceful as the warblers' lays, 
Come back and nestle in my breast. 
Each one a blessed welcome guest. 



60 



And at last, when the sun goes down, 
May the softest and the fairest crown, 
Decked with those blessed smiling stars, 
Be mine, 'y° n d the heavenly bars. 

EASTER MORNING 

It is Easter morning 

And the world wakes to a strange, sweet 

gladness, 
And with this bright dawning 
Adieu, adieu, every winged sadness. 
Many doubts and deep gloom 
Had gathered around each Disciple's head, 
When they laid Him in the tomb, 
In His cold and quiet and granite bed. 

Their light had faded now; 

With Him their fondest hopes were buried 

there. 
With darkness on the brow 
They'd sunk almost now to sullen despair. 
Christ was their joy and peace; 
Christ was their inspiration day and night. 
He'd brought them sweet release 
From sin and bondage and eternal blight. 

Heaven was in His eye, 
And rapturous music was in His voice; 
And a glad, sweet surprise 
61 



Constantly met them and made them rejoice. 
He was their magnet, too, 
To hold them and to lift them higher still, 
He shot them through and through 
With sunshine, and stirred their hearts with 
a thrill. 

So when they saw Him dead, 

And when they looked upon His cold white 

face, 
Their hearts, heavy like lead. 
So ended life's sweet but feverish race; 
Nothing to live for since 
The blessed Savior hung upon the tree; 
Their chief, only defense, 
Had failed them; they saw Him die in agony. 

After the midnight pall 

And after they had laid Him in the grave, 

After wormwood and gall, 

When He was conquered and had failed to 

save ; 
After the falling tear 

After the sobbing, and sore heart-breaking, 
After their doubts and fears, 
After the sleeping there came the waking. 

"He is not here!" they cried. 
A shout, a glad Hosannah pierced the skies. 
The conq'ring crucified 
62 



Has conquered death, met all the prophecies. 

He broke the Roman Seal, 

The pond'rous granite slab He overturned 

On heaven's shining wheel, 

And mockings of Devils he proudly spurned. 

Ah, no more dread of death! 

And before the awful conqueror's tread 

Let Satan hold his breath; 

And let hell and the grave yield to the dead, 

Who in Him fell asleep. 

For He has conquered and will bind His 

foes, 
And down so dark and deep 
He'll plunge them, afflict them with endless 

woes. 

This Easter morning fair, 

With the reigning King come into His own, 

Light breaking everywhere, 

And gladness singing upon her throne, 

O, let the flowers bloom, 

And let every song-bird be in tune, 

For empty is the tomb! 

And sweeter than the gladdest day in June. 

O, earth, cease sighing; 
Lift up thy head and let thy eyes be dry. 
No time now for crying, 
For the day of thy crowning draweth nigh. 
63 



Shout with a risen King, 

And wreathe garlands of love for His fair 

head, 
And let the heavens ring 
O'er his empty tomb, for there is no dead ! 

Ah, no discordant note, 

But hallelujahs and rhapsodies of song 

Burst forth from every throat, 

To girt the earth and wake a heavenly 

throng. 
Oh, 'tis the gladdest day, 
The gladdest day the world has ever known ! 
Oh, shadows, flee away 
This day of triumph, the resurrection morn! 



64 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED 

The world is full of the broken-hearted, 

Full of their sobs and wails, 

Full of horrible tales, 

Full of the sighings of loved ones departed, 

Ships adrift, broken sails. 

Oh, many a soul is girt with a sigh 

Too deep for human aid; 

For hand was never made 

That could wipe a tear from the streaming eye. 

But hark! the Master said: 

The broken-hearted, for these there's healing, 

Though a poor broken string, 

Though a sad, bleeding thing, 

At His touch there comes so softly stealing, 

Joy, laughter as in Spring. 

There is many an empty cradle bed, 

Many an empty shoe; 

Arms that are empty, too, 

And there's many an aching, throbbing head, 

Many a sad adieu. 

Oh, we cry for those who have gone away ; 
We're lonely here below; 
Our hearts are bleeding so. 
But He'll come and turn darkness into day, 
And stop the red blood flow. 
65 



So it matters not how dark the hour, 

Nor painfully sore, 

Jesus suffered before, 

And with balm and gracious healing power, 

The heart will bleed no more. 

Now, blessed Master, with Thy touch divine, 

To suff'rings put an end, 

And broken hearts do mend 

With that all compassionate touch of Thine, 

The sweetest healing send. 



66 



OL' MAMMY'S LULLABY 

" Go ter sleep, HI' baby, 
An' don't yer cry no more, 
Cum, now, dry up dem tears, 
An' mind yer Mammy Joe. 

" Who hurt yer feelin's, chile, 
Who scolded yer dat way, 
Who broke yer tender heart, 
And made yer cry all day? 

" Mammy'll rock yer, honey, 

An' hug yer up so tight, 

An' sing yer a lil' song, 

An' yer'll sleep good ternight. 

" Nobody'll tech my chile, 
While Mammy's so close by; 
It gives pain ter my heart 
Ter hear my po' chile cry. 

" Des dare any nigger 
Ter hurt my baby-chile, 
Fer I gwine er set right here, 
An' min' yer all de while. 

" Now dat's right, lay yer head 
On Mammy's ol' black breas'; 
Be er good lil' baby, 
An' den go ter yer res'. 
67 



" Hear der win' er moanin', 
An' de owls er hootin' roun'? 
But baby's. safe ternight, 
An' soon be sleepin' soun'. 

" De sperrits done cum out, 
An' walkin' eb'ry where, 
Some time dey's on de groun', 
An' some time in de air. 

" I hear de varmints too, 
Er' prowlin' in de branch, 
An' de cattle dey low 
So mournful in de ranch. 

" Don't yer be scared, honey, 
Don't keer whut gwine rise, 
Not'in ain't gwine hurt yer — 
Now den, shet dem 111* eyes." 

Old Mammy kept rocking, 
And eyelids kept drooping, 
Crooning the baby song, 
Till all was still e'er long. 

" Dat's nice, yer sweet lil' chile, 
Yer done gone fas' er-sleep, 
An' ol' tired Mammy'll give 
Yer ter de angels ter keep." 



THE OLD MILL AT THE FAMOUS 
INDIAN SPRINGS IN GEORGIA 

The dear old Mill! 

I love it still, — 

The dear old Mill I knew years ago, 

My heart they fill, 

My heart they thrill, 

The melodies of the waters flow. 

The silver sheets, 

As each completes 

Its task on the solid granite bed, 

Shine with splendor, 

Tall and slender, 

As they fall from mill-race overhead. 

The wheel goes round, 

As waters bound, 

As the grist in the hopper they pour, 

And how profound, 

As round by round, 

Life's wonderful wheel turns o'er and o'er. 

The dear soul here, 

With smile or tear, 

Is lashed into the softest slumber; 

And there's no fear — 

The old Mill near — 

As one dreams of joys without number. 

69 



Many a day 

Has slipped away, 

Since the good old Mill began to grind; 

And lovers gay, 

With tender lay, 

Have ofttimes sung to a prosperous wind. 

Old Mill turn on, 

And grind the corn, 

And gladden life with thy ceaseless rounds. 

Shadows have flown, 

And smiles are born, 

As waters dash forth with leaps and bounds. 

The lover's song, 

Aye, sung so long, 

Slipped into the sweet forgetful past; 

It was no wrong, 

'Twas the Mill's own song, 

But these loving notes were too sweet to last. 

The water's roar, 
The water's pour, 

That drives with music this pond'rous wheel, 
Drives evermore, 
On other shore 

Than this, the Mills that grind life's fine 
meal. 



70 



Oh, golden beam, 

Oh, golden gleam, 

Oh, fair waters that on life's wheel fall! 

Musical stream, 

Sweet as a dream, 

Turn the old Mill wheel, make a song for 



A WILD RIDE FOR THE TRAIN 

I stood on the streets one night, 
Waiting anxiously for a car; 
But, alas! no car in sight, 
As I looked away and afar. 

I grew nervous, anxious now, 
For the hour was growing late; 
Troubled was my heart and brow. 
Was I confronted by stern fate? 

Ten minutes, time is flying, 

And a mile away from depot ; 

Slowly my hopes are dying, 

And the waiting's painful, you know. 

While one tiny spark did burn, 
And on the border of despair, 
I did slowly, sadly turn, 
And lo! a prancing charger there. 
71 



How noble, how grand was she, 
As she lifted her head in air; 
Oh, she looked so good to me, 
This prancing charger, I declare. 

Slowly, now, she passes by, 
With very fine, majestic tread; 
And my deliv'rance 'tis nigh, 
I'll venture now — the word is said. 

And my unknown friend speaks out, 
As so proudly he holds his steed: 
Mount! be quick, he did shout; 
And we're off like the wind for speed. 

Half a mile and five minutes more, 
But our matchless steed presses on ; 
" Move on, and we'll make it sure," 
And like the night wind we're gone. 

The bright lights come in full view, 
As they flash from lofty tower, 
And horse's hoofs thunder loud 
In this wild and anxious hour. 

Can we make it? Almost o'er 

Two minutes and we'll make the train. 

But time lost, then nevermore, 

And this wild ride is made in vain. 



72 



The last minute going fast. 
Press on noble steed, don't break it. 
If thy speed will only last! 
Bravo! my beauty, we make it! 

AFTER WINTER — SPRING 

After the Winter is over, 
After the ice is gone, 
After birds have come from cover, 
After the wind's sad moan, 
After the snow, beautiful snow, 
After the slush and rain, 
After violets 'gin to grow, 
The Spring has come again. 

After a long and weary night, 
All thunder-girt and drear, 
After the blast, after the blight, 
After the doubt and fear, 
After waiting, after dreaming, 
After many a sigh, 
After sobs and eyes a-streaming, 
We see Spring in the sky. 

After the sagging of the trees, 
After the frozen rose, 
After the sharp and chilling breeze, 
After the winter's woes, 
After the crash of ice and sleet, 
73 



After the driving storm, 
After the pauper's aching feet, 
Spring brings a blessed balm. 

After hearthstones, cheerless and dark, 

After embers dying, 

After little ones, cold and stark, 

After pain and crying, 

After the ragged covering, 

After the cry for bread, 

After the long-time shivering, 

The Spring is here instead. 

After heart-throbs and the longing, 
After the plaintive song, 
After the world rush and thronging, 
After gloom, after wrong, 
After waking, after sleeping, 
After the shadows fall, 
After praying, after weeping, 
Sunlit Spring comes to all. 

After the mother's wail so wild, 
After the light is past, 
After prayer for the wayward child, 
After the stormy blast, 
After suffering, after grief, 
After the anguish's o'er, 
After the sear and yellow leaf, 
Then Spring will bless the poor. 
74 



After the ghosts and spectres dread, 
After the goblins' stalk, 
After a thousand hopes have fled, 
After grim phantoms walk, 
After the long and bitter wail, 
After tear, after fear, 
After all it will never fail, 
Then Spring will bring good cheer. 

So let thy sorrows flee away, 
And let thy dread be gone, 
And let thy night burst into day, 
And mount a peaceful throne. 
Flowers will bloom for thee once more, 
And birds for thee will sing, 
And light will break on ev'ry shore, 
When God shall wake the Spring. 



75 



LINES WRITTEN 

ON REV. C. L. THOMPSON AND READ AT HIS 

FAREWELL SERVICE AS HE LEFT 

JACKSON HILL BAPTIST CHURCH, 

HIS ATLANTA CHARGE, 

FOR HIS NEW HOME IN NORTH CAROLINA. 

It was so hard to say the good-bye, 
As it's always to the friend you love. 
Ah, there seems a sadness in the sky, 
And many fine thoughts my heart now move. 

He came so richly into my life, 
And formed a fellowship very dear, 
That his going cuts now like a knife, 
And my heart is wrung — down rolls a 
tear. 

'Tis so sweet to have a friend like this; 
So noble, so gentle and so true. 
In the years to come we still shall miss 
Dear soul whom to-day we bid adieu. 

As faithful to his Lord and Master, 
As faithful as needle to the pole; 
Serene in safety or disaster, 
Is his beautiful, his big white soul. 

He's gentle as a woman always, 
Brave and noble — just a manly man, 
76 



And transparent as the honest day, 
With subterfuge and sham under ban. 

Sometime he is scathingly severe ; 
Paints luridly the horrors of hell. 
Then, moved by pity and love so dear, 
His thoughts so melting they make hearts 
swell. 

He is so ruggedly honest, too, — 
He strikes from the shoulder hard and fast, 
That somewhere beyond the shining blue, 
We know that his blessed work will last. 

Winsome, courteous is he, ever 
Courtly, like chivalrous knight of old; 
Onward, like some life-giving river, 
Flowing right on to the far-off goal. 

In the pulpit he is a power, 
In sick room a benediction there; 
And like the fragrance of a flower 
Is his life with the breath of prayer. 

So I lay this chaplet on thy brow, 
We'll not wait till asleep 'neath the sod; 
I give thee, brother, my flowers now, 
As they may help thee climb up to God. 



77 



THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

WERE WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR FOR MEMBERS OF 

THE SENIOR CLASS, WHOM HE TAUGHT IN 

COX COLLEGE, SESSION ENDING I<H2. 

HATTIE 

We've spent some fine days together, 
In sunshine and stormy weather; 
We've had our hopes and had our fears, 
Had our laughter and had our tears, 
But times of parting come to all, 
And the farewell word now must fall, 
So be good — fair as thou art now, 
With heaven's sunshine on thy brow. 

LUCILLE 

You jolly girl, 

With golden curl, 

With roughish smiles and dimples too, 

With big brown eyes, 

Filled with surprise, 

Thou'rt fit for painter's brush 'tis true. 

KATHLEEN 

Am glad we've met, 
And yet, and yet, 
The day of parting comes at last. 
So fare thee well, 
78 



The silver bell 

Of life will wake the blessed past. 

CLEO 

The last word must now be said — 
Blessings on thy heart and head ; 
And though the clouds gather o'er, 
And the wild waves lash the shore — 
And though every twinkling star, 
That shines in its home so far, 
Should sometimes hide its fair face, 
He'll bless thee with His free Grace. 

SARAH ELIZABETH 

This is Commencement Day — 
It seems but yesterday, 
So swiftly have passed the hours, 
Since we met at this place, 
Since first I saw your face 
Amid the Autumnal flowers. 

'Tis true some shadows fell 

O'er the plain, o'er the dell 

Of College life, 'twas a dream, 

Lovely dream, after all, 

Just like a fairy call, 

Shadows flee — falls fair sunbeam. 



79 



And so beneath bright skies, 

If not in ecstasies, 

May your walk be peaceful, calm, 

And to life's journey's end 

Know that I am thy friend, 

In golden sunshine or storm. 

JULIA 

This is an eventful day; 

It shall never come again. 

Times will steal it yet away, 

But, bless the Lord, it has been. 

Banners floating to the breeze, 

And hearts so joyous and free, 

And life redolent of ease, 

With song-birds in air and trees — 

I wish for thee every good, 

That e'er comes to mortals here — 

Then, with red and noble blood, 

Mayst thou give the world good cheer. 

Glad I've known thee, gentle maid; 

Thou'st brought blessings to my heart, 

But time's wheels have ne'er been stayed 

So farewell! to-day we part. 



80 



It has not all been easy sailing, 
Yet the voyage has been fine, 
For never has there been any railing, 
And thy pleasure has been mine. 
Now another sea wilt thou sail o'er. 
May prosperous winds attend thee, 
Till thou shalt reach the Diviner shore 
Meet thy pilot o'er the sea. 

IRENE 

The song birds will greet you, 

And roses wet with dew 

Beneath the smiling blue, 

Will crown you and bless you 

In these glad days that are passing by. 

Like a bird blithe and gay, 

Like a child at her play, 

Like sunbeam live-long day, 

Sing, play and shine away, 

And gladden life with thy minstrelsy. 



WHEN THE VIOLETS BLOOM AGAIN 

When the violets bloom again, 
Way down in the shady glen, 
Lovers with tender hearts and looks, 
Will whisper low 'long meadow brooks. 

And when the birds begin to sing, 
In the balmy blooming Spring, 
Little children like fairies sweet, 
Laughing and with pattering feet, 

Will splash on through the waters clear, 
Feel the angels' presence near, 
With ne'er a shadow creeping o'er; 
Joyous shall it be evermore. 

And the soft green carpet lying, 
And gentle zephyrs sighing, 
And meadow brooks softly flowing, 
Ah, but the glad day is going. 

But violets will bloom right on, 
At evening tide as at morn; 
And when the sun has gone to sleep, 
Sweet violets their vigils keep. 

And lovers at the twilight hour, 
Linger 'round this modest flower, 
Pour the wealth of their hearts out there, 
With holy incense and with prayer. 
82 



Little children will lie and dream, 
Of green banks, flowers and stream, 
While the moonlight so softly creeps, 
As soft as when an angel sleeps. 

So bloom on, dear sweet violet. 

Down by meadow brooks as yet, 

Little children and lovers will 

Meet thee, greet thee and bless thee still. 



83 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS 

When the night is dark and lonely, 
And your very soul cast down, 
And you and your sorrow only, 
With your sharp and thorny crown, 
Are left to solve life's problem deep, 
Left to gather hope again, 
So can you smile, or will you weep? 
Oh, life's sunshine! Oh, life's rain! 

In your room the shadows creeping, 
In your heart the breakers fall, 
O'er your life the storm is weeping, 
O'er your head the midnights fall ; 
Ghastly spectres stalk before you, 
And the wind comes howling on; 
In night's dome not a speck of blue, 
But darkness is on her throne. 

A thousand thoughts come trooping up: 
Thoughts of the dead buried past. 
You drink again the bitter cup, 
'Tis the touch of winter's blast. 
You wonder in your soul how long 
Will abide this awful spell. 
In the night-time is there no song? 
On the earth can there be hell? 



84 



And from your soul you heave a sigh, 

Breathing out a broken prayer; 

Not fit to live, not fit to die, 

You call on God to bless you there. 

For though a sinner, all undone, 

And a rebel heart and vile, 

And your crime-stained life you would shun, 

And seek His grace all the while. 

How the shadows of other days, 

The hobgoblins of the past, 

Come stalking up in gruesome ways, 

Seize you, hold you hard and fast. 

A thousand tongues accuse you now, 

And every word's a flame, 

And a flame of fire's on thy brow, 

And you shudder at your shame. 

Ah ! you so wish you might forget ! 
Drag these phantoms from your brain. 
You crave for quietness, and yet, 
Life's driving storm once again 
Hurls a broadside against your soul, 
And wrings you with anguish so, 
Over you the dark billows roll, 
'Fernal tortures from below. 

And from the depths you cry aloud, 
" Is there help for wretch like me? 
Can there be a rift in the cloud? 
85 



Lord, break my chain, set me free." 
And with your plaintive cry for peace, 
Loving mercy, sure and sweet, 
Will come and bring you full release; 
Make a child of God complete. 

So, if your sins be ne'er so black, 
And your crime be red like blood, 
And demons hound your every track, 
They can't touch you, though they would 
Just tear your very soul in twain. 
For the Man of Galilee 
Draws death and hell now as a train, 
Since He died on Calvary. 



r 



86 



THE BIG APPLE TREE 

The big apple tree so dear to my heart, 

Stood and bloomed by the parlor window there, 

And as the fondest recollections start, 

The most beautiful blossoms white and fair, 

Bloom once again, as in my boyhood days, 

And I inhale the fragrance as of yore; 

But the old apple tree, as all decays, 

Has long since fallen to bloom never more. 

Apple tree bloomed by the little log house — 
By the little log house where I was born; 
And beneath its shade played many a mouse. 
But blossoms have faded, the tree has gone, 
But in fondest recollections I see, 
The loveliest blossoms are blooming still; 
For in all the world there was ne'er such a tree, 
That bloomed in valley or blossomed on hill. 

Never were apples more yellow than they, 
Nor more beautiful, nor richer 'tis true — 
Mellow and juicy as a glad June day, 
A picture of peace 'neath the smiling blue. 
Though blossom and fruit from old apple tree 
Shown resplendent from many a bower, — 
Ah, we'll keep green in blessed memory, 
The old apple tree in my childhood's hour! 



87 



'Neath its friendly bowers we used to play, 
In the blessed and golden long ago, 
And whiled the summer hours sweetly away, 
Fair as the morning, gentle as the snow. 
But some who played 'neath the old apple tree, 
Are now softly sleeping their long sweet sleep, 
Tenderly slipped into slumber land free, 
While the fragrance of their mem'ries we keep. 

Can I e'er forget in the soft twilight, 

When the apple blooms with dew were so wet, 

How the sweet mocking-bird, just merged from 

the night, 
Sang in the apple tree — I hear her yet ; 
For hours she poured from her silvery throat, 
Music that would wake the forest around, 
Till to-day every mellifluous note 
Seems to make the spot an enchanted ground. 

i 

Oh, thou beautiful friend of my childhood, 
The fragrance of thy life is with me now; 
I fling chaplets at thy feet, and I would 
Place a fadeless crown on thy snow-white brow. 
Well mightst thou have been queen of the wood- 
land, 
Thou fairest that blooms 'neath the Southern sky ! 
Yea, to me thou wert fairer than dreamland, 
My dear old apple tree for thee I sigh! 



88 



HIS FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY 

TO A NOBLE FRIEND 

I am fifty years old to-day. 

How the years are passing away! 

Good Lord, let me not go astray, 

But keep me close to Thee, 

And let my soul be free 

From the shackles of doubt that's been 

Winsome without and pure within, — 

Though I should be the Lord's shut-in, 

O, make me calm and still 

That I may know His will. 

It seems but yesterday since I 

Ran through the clover and the rye, 

Ready to laugh, ready to cry, 

Innocent barefoot boy, 

Full of sunshine and joy. 

Ah, it seems like a passing dream, 

And it seems like a tiny stream. 

O, life is a wonderful theme. 

So soon the story's told, 

But now I'm getting old. 

O, roll back the soft wheels of time. 
Let me stand in another clime. 
In the rhythm and in the rhyme, 
In happy childhood days, 
With angels in our plays, 



To be a child just for to-night 
Would make stars infinitely bright, 
And make the world shine forth with light, 
If only child again — happy as I have been. 

How fondly do I remember, 

Sometimes May, sometimes December, 

By sweet blossoms or glowing ember 

I roved the woodland fair; 

Or sat in childish chair, 

With my dear old dog on some trail, 

Or list'ning to a fairy tale, 

Or hum of bees or wind's loud wail, 

In the sweet long ago, 

Where the daisies used to grow. 

So many, so dear to my heart, 

Many that used to take my part, 

Have felt since then 

Death's stinging dart, 

Are now gently sleeping, 

While others are weeping. 

I miss these gentle spirits still, 

As they sleep in valley or hill, 

And for them my eyes sometimes fill, 

And my spirit sighs so 

For friends of long ago. 

Many changes have come since then — 
Days of my childhood, glad days when 
90 



I roved the wood, hill and glen, 
And so free from sorrow, 
Dreaming of to-morrow, 
Of skies brighter than e'er before, 
And joys to fade nevermore. 
And laughter ringing at the door. 
But times have changed so 
Since fifty years ago. 

The glow of life was in my face, 
The charm of heaven's sweetest grace; 
And there was neither sign nor trace 
Of the slightest care; 
But only peace was there, 
For mother's kiss was on my brow. 
Precious mother! she taught me how, 
She was loving, I feel it now, 
Mother's kiss long ago, 
Soft and pure as the snow. 

I remember the dear old spring, 
Where the sweet-voiced birds used to sing; 
I remember the bullace swing, 
Where children used to play, 
Happy the live-long day; 
For here loving memory loiters — 
Oh, come back, ye laughing waters, 
Sing again, ye sons and daughters, 
Sing as in days of yore 
On youth's glad, happy shore. 
9i 



But the roses of youth have gone, 

And the dreams of childhood have flown. 

No more can we call them our own, 

Save in memory sweet. 

And we often repeat 

The sayings of our comrades here, 

And for them often drop a tear, 

For they were sweet and so sincere 

In golden days of yore, 

To come back nevermore. 

Alas, alas! 'twas always so! 
Yea, from the far off long ago 
Life's ever been a ceaseless flow; 
Life has its spring and bloom, 
When fondest hopes up loom, 
Then comes the sweetest summertime, 
With the fullest blossom and rhyme, 
With richest ring and swing of chime. 
Now golden Autumn's past, 
And Winter's chilling blast. 

And many a fair and curly head, 
Soft resting on the downy bed, 
Just as soft as an angel's tread; 
And rosy cheeks so fair, 
And dimples, too, so rare, 
And laughter and song all afloat, 
Sweeter than any warbler's note; 
And hands precious as ever wrote; 
92 



They're all with me again, 
Precious as e'er they've been. 

I come with a smile and a tear, 
And I come to these that are near, 
For every one is so dear; 
For across mem'ry's track 
Sweetest blessings come back. 
Oh, but I sometimes long to know, 
If in life's softest sunset glow, 
I may with playmates surely go 
To that fair land of rest, 
And be forever blest. 

Life's sun will soon be going down, 
And the shadows will gather 'round, 
And if in that fair and rich playground, 
I may join that dear throng 
That I've known, aye, so long, 
I'll shout with everlasting bliss, 
And make the heavens ring with this, 
" My Savior brought me here, and is 
The fairest one of old, 
In the City of Gold." 



93 



HIS BABY'S BIRTHDAY 

The morning broke so fair and fine, 
And it was my baby's birthday — 
And she was now just four and nine, 
And as sweet as a morn in May. 

Her face was wreathed with smiles so sweet, 
And her eyes shone out like the stars, 
And through halls her pattering feet 
Charming as maid at the bars. 

No shadow falls athwart her way, 
No sadness creeps into her soul, 
But all's one glad, one long sweet day, 
With hopes writ big on life's fair roll. 

With many and alluring charms, 
The world bids my baby come on, 
Saying there's no risk, there's no harm, 
Only pleasures right on and on. 

O, may never the siren's song 

Lead my child from the path of right, 

Or e'er beguile her into wrong, 

Or lose her in the starless night. 

There are pitfalls along life's road, 
Many pitfalls, both wide and deep; 
And untrained feet, with heavy load, 
May go down here with one fell sweep. 
94 



Take care, lest with all the flowers, 
My child should meet the piercing thorn, 
And with the world's radiant hours, 
Find, when too late, real pleasure gone. 

The brimming cup is ofttimes sweet, 
But, alas! the bitterness there! 
And souls will through this channel meet 
Their doom, and perish without prayer. 

I would not quench thy sunbeams dear, 
That fall to-day on thy sweet face; 
Nor make thy heart beat once with fear, 
But to thy soul come peace and grace. 

Go gather the sunshine, my love, 
And wreathe a chaplet for thy brow; 
Tryst with the angels from above, 
And get a glimpse of heaven now. 

In other days look back on this, 
The day of thy childish gladness; 
And this thy father's wish that bliss 
Some day may e'er blot out sadness. 



95 



DOCTOR NITCH 

Be careful, dear Doctor Nitch, 
Lest they should put you in the ditch, 
'Tween Scylla and Charybdis, which? 
Keep on main track or wreck on the switch. 

Storms have broke on land and sea, 
And ships have gone down constantly, 
And hearts that were light and full of glee, 
Went down with the ship most mournfully. 

The finest promise of voyage rare, 

With comrades so true and comrades fair, 

And every step a golden stair, 

But, dear Doctor Nitch, it's all hot air. 

The sea is calm and the skies are blue, 
But deadly breakers are 'head of you, 
And the waters are treacherous, too; 
Look for a landing, Doctor Nitch, do. 

If you escape the watery grave, 
If the good Lord your carcass save, 
If in the mad house you do not rave, 
Then thank your stars, most noble brave. 

So chink the vessel with tar and pitch; 
Keep in the angel, keep out the witch; 
Bid farewell to devils and sich, 
And sail on and on, dear Doctor Nitch. 
96 



EVANGELIST FRANK JACKSON 

Big bodied, big souled gentleman, 
Genial, sunny and earnest, too, 
Working with Him the infinite plan, 
With heart on fire 'neath heaven's blue. 

Gentle as a woman is he, 
But brave as a lion alway, 
With a clear ringing ministry, 
Out of darkness he forges day. 

From the shoulder so hard and fast, 
He hurls his most terrific blows; 
For faith pinned to the topmost mast, 
Makes to tremble his stoutest foes. 

He never compromises truth, 
He never lets the standard trail, 
He is the Lord Almighty's sleuth, 
And with his Lord he cannot fail. 

I've seen him weep, wail over sin — 
Have seen him cry just like a child, 
Heard him storm the ramparts of hell, 
And sinners quake with fear so wild. 

Am sure a golden crown he'll wear, 
And in it di'mond stars will shine, 
And angels will shout in the air, 
When the Lord shall say, " He is mine. 

97 



A PLEA FOR THE GOOD AND THE 
TRUE 

If only men were good and true, 
What a world this would be; 
But the skies are not always blue, 
Nor same the deep blue sea. 

Sometimes men smile and make soft speech; 
Sometimes they promise well; 
Sometimes good philosophy teach, 
But, alas ! who can tell — 

By words and deeds they lead you on, 
Till your faith looms up high, 
Then they leave you to weep and mourn, 
With fondest hopes to die. 

O, the perfidy of the heart! 

The asp beneath the tongue, 

The whizzing of the stinging dart! 

And a poor soul that's wrung. 

In confidence in his brother, 
Man stakes his hopes steadfast — 
Trusting as he would his mother — 
Then comes the bitter blast. 

The young maiden, so fair and sweet, 
Trusts her ardent lover; 
But soon is crushed beneath his feet, 
And all her joy's over. 
98 



Some times the preacher in the stand, 
Preaching the Word of God, 
Is as false as a rope of sand, 
And earthy as the sod. 

Full of evil and full of guile, 
And selfish to the core, 
Men are hateful, although they smile; 
And men forget the poor. 

If only like Christ men might be, 
And unlike selfish self, 
And if from carnal passion free, 
From lure of damning pelf. 

The world's waiting for twice born men, 
For men who will not lie, 
Who will scorn to do wrong, and then 
Heaven will be so nigh. 

For heaven is in right living, 
And hell is in the wrong. 
Man, get a blessing by giving — 
Bless the world with a song. 

O, suffer thy self outraged e'er 
Thou shouldst harm another; 
Love thine enemy, dry his tear, 
And Christ'll call thee " brother." 



99 



IT MATTERS NOT HOW DARK THE 
WAY 

It matters not how dark the way, 
If only God is there. 
He can turn darkness into day, 
And murm'ring into prayer. 
It matters not how far we stray, 
The Lord can bring us back, 
If only we will stop and pray, 
He knows our ev'ry lack. 

So often have we wandered far 
From God, and home and right, 
And faced the night without a star, 
And fallen in the fight, 
As foes have pounded upon us there, 
And made us wince with pain, 
But God has heard the timid prayer, 
And helped us up again. 

It matters not how vile within, 

How wretched and how lone, 

His blood can wash away all sin, 

His grace extract the thorn; 

And though our sins pile mountain high, 

Or beat us down to hell, 

Our Lord can fit us for the sky, 

And make our bruises well. 



ioo 



We do not feel that we are fit 
To wear upon our brow, 
A crown of mercy, glory-lit, 
But sinner trust Him now, 
For never yet has He said " nay," 
To the poor soul that's down; 
He always stoops to hear us pray, 
To give the shining crown. 

Is your heart now sore and bleeding? 

Do Satan's darts assail? 

Dear Soul, Jesus now is pleading; 

With Him you cannot fail. 

Let all the howling imps of hell, 

And ev'ry fi'ry foe, 

Attack — they'll hear their own death-knell, 

While Jesus grips you so. 

So dry your tears and lift your face 

Upward toward the sky; 

Feel the comforting of His grace, 

And know that He is nigh, 

His wondrous mercy is so free, 

He died upon the Cross. 

Stand with Him there, He died for thee, 

Thou canst not suffer loss. 



IOI 



HIS CLEANSING BLOOD 

Jesus is a loving Savior, 

He died upon the tree, 

And He bears the sins of many 

In bloody agony. 

He was rich and He became poor, 
That we might riches know; 
He left the Courts of Glory, 
For Jesus loved us so. 

He saw our sins, He saw our crimes, 
He knew our helplessness; 
His soul was melted down to tears, 
And Oh, what blessedness. 

Oh, the precious blood, that ran down 
Our Savior's failing frame! 
Oh, the agony on the Cross! 
But the glory of that name! 

Oh, the blood, the wonderful blood! 
With all its crimson flow, 
It cleanses us from guilt and shame — 
Makes us whiter than snow. 

It matters not how black our sins, 
It matters not how base, 
If only we'll come 'neath His blood, 
In peace we'll see His face. 



So let His blood be now applied, 
Glorious thought is this, 
Victory now since Jesus died ! 
Pardon and peace and bliss. 



103 



AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO THE 

author's ESTEEMED FRIEND, 

PROF. M. M. HARGROVE, OF LAUREY, VA. 

I have a friend, genial, distinguished friend, 
From dear Virginia he hails. 
He is true and tried — faithful to the end — 
Well equipped to weather the gales. 

He's tall and handsome, with manners so fine; 
He has the noblest sense of right — 
With the majesty of a southern pine, 
And the grace of a lordly knight. 

He would not stoop to do a thing that's mean, 
Hates the sham with the finest scorn, 
Just living to trust and on Him to lean — 
A gentleman, a gentleman born. 

He lives 'bove the mires and fogs of life; 
Sees the stars, though he walks the sod; 
He loves the peace and hates to strife; 
He basks in the sunshine of God. 

Thou noble spirit! courtly gentleman! 

I hail thee and I honor thee! 

Christian and scholar, God's own nobleman — 

Like a prince unshackled and free. 



[04 



THE MIST 

The mist of the morning 

Came at the dawning, 

And with silver slipper trod on bush and tree, 

And with the soft sweet wake 

Of the birds in the brake, 

Falls as lightly as the snow on the sea. 

Its breath and its foot-print, 

But so easily spent, 

Hovers weirdly over hill and over dale. 

But the wonderful mist 

In its ghostly tryst, 

Lifts from land and sea and floats off in the gale. 

So the mist in the gray 

Of the dawning of day, 

Comes for a moment to touch the old world, 

But the heart will get right, 

And the world will get bright, 

When the swinging mist her banners have furled. 



105 



THE BEWITCHING MAID 

She was so very entrancing, 
As she set your heart a prancing, 
And as she went off a dancing, 
This sweet nymph of the woodland ; 
She was so cunning and so gay, 
Celestial in her winsome way, 
Holding you in complete sway, 
This fairy maid of dreamland. 

The way she tossed her head in air, 
With softest sunlight in her hair, 
With manner all so debonair, 
Just set your heart a blazing; 
And then those pretty roguish eyes, — 
Just the color of sweet June skies; 
Every movement a glad surprise; 
Her beauty was amazing. 

Ah, those sweet smiles, like golden beams, 

And rosy as a face of dreams, 

And dimples fair as stars on streams, 

Bewitching, glorious maid ! 

Was ever there a sweeter queen? 

Was ever there such beauty seen? 

Fairer far than the moonlight sheen, 

Princess to her Court have paid. 

Her wondrous voice casts a spell 
On mountain top or shady dell, 
106 



And makes the soul with glory swell; 
Maid of woodland fair and sweet, 
Sweet maid so near, sweet maid so far, 
More brilliant than the whitest star; 
Fair child we wonder what you are, 
As we worship at your feet. 



THE EVENING ZEPHYR 

The evening zephyr kissed her cheek, 
And cooled the fever there; 
The evening zephyr played hide and seek 
In her tousled hair. 

The evening zephyr whispered low 
Of lover far away, 

And whispered how he loved her so — 
And coming " some sweet day." 

The maiden smiled, and blushes came, 
As she thought of him then — 
When evening zephyr called his name, 
The maiden answered " when." 



107 



GOOD NIGHT TO MARGARET 

Good night, my child, the sweetest dreams be thine, 
Angels thy spirit with garlands entwine, 
As fair as e'er bloomed on heavenly shore, 
All love in-breathed and fadeless evermore. 

The day's been long and thou'rt so tired, my dear, 
So sink into dreamland that's now so near; 
I'll guard thee, my baby, the livelong night, 
While the soft winds blow and the stars shine 
bright. 

We shall miss thy smile and thy laughter wild, 
And thy big blue eyes, my beautiful child, 
We shall miss the pattering of thy feet, 
Thy baby prattle and thy dimples sweet. 

Thou art my sunbeam and my soul's fair dream, 
And thy life runs on like a musical stream, 
And as the morning rays paint thy sweet face, 
Making more radiant thy wondrous grace, 

I could wish the day of sunshine and gold, 
Which thy baby hands in life now hold, 
Might linger with us and e'er abide, 
And hold thee, pretty one, close to my side. 

Life will be a song and the world shine on, 
And I'll exult like a king on his throne, 
108 



Sing like a lark and shine like a star, 

And bask in heaven for heaven's where you are. 

Thy lustrous blue eyes all swimming with light, 
That rival the stars, fair stars of the night, 
And thy cheeks so rich with roses so red, 
And the soft sunshine like a crown on thy head, 
And thy full voice like a heavenly spring, 
Vibrating with love while the angels sing. 
Not dearer to bard is his minstrelsy, 
Is this fine spell now floating o'er me. 

The white stars may fall from the azure blue, 
And fade forever the sparkling dew, 
And every river in its matchless course, 
Like a summer-dried fountain at its source, 
In sullen silence refuse to flow, 
And the archer ne'er again bend his bow, 
And the mountain melt to the planes again, 
And nevermore fall the silver rain, 
And hushed be the note in the warbler's throat, 
And never again on the breezes float, 
But thou, heaven-born, heaven-blest child, 
I love thee with a love passionate, wild ; 
And till the heavens in a gorgeous scroll, 
Shall in that last day in splendor roll, 
And all the blood-washed, love-girt hosts of God 
Shall in glory mount up from sea and sod, 
Till then when age on age shall still be rolled, 
I'll be loving thee in the City of Gold. 
109 



Ah, little darling, I've kept thee too long, 

Must cease my love-making and hush my song, 

For thine eyelids, baby, are drooping so, 

And thy curly head is bending low; 

The sun's long since set and the stars are out, 

And silent shadows are falling about, 

And a holy hush, so calm and so deep, 

Falls upon the earth, precursor of sleep; 

And every song-bird is still for to-night, 

And every white star is giving its light. 

But I'm so loath, my pretty sweet one, 
To note that thy laughter and play is done; 
So good night, fair child. Angels attend thee! 
Dream of sweet fairies and music and me, 
And muffle-footed slumber, now at the door, 
Just came so softly, as she had come before, 
And with gentlest touch she enfolded her, 
And I was almost a worshipper. 

As I looked on my angel sleeping there, 
With life so fragrant and a face so fair, 
Then I bowed me down at her trundle bed, 
And kissed her ruby lips and stroked her head, 
And with the blue heavens bending o'er me, 
At her trundle bed, on my bended knee, 
With her chubby hand in my big warm palm, 
In that fitful hour, so peaceful, so calm, 
A spirit of the deepest devotion 
Came rolling o'er me like waves of the ocean, 
no 



And I lifted up my voice then to pray 
That she might be good as she is to-day; 
Be blest and be a blessing to the world, 
As fair as banners so proudly unfurled. 

May the shadows fall lightly on her brow, 
May the sunshine crown her ever as now, 
And may choicest flowers bloom at her feet, 
And her beautiful light be just as sweet, 
Where'er, beneath God's blue dome, 
In after years she may build her home, 
May it have the glow of a Master's throne, 
And a touch of heaven to call her own; 
May the song-birds of peace sing 'long her path, 
And gladden her hopes in a sweet aftermath. 

And when the last shadows of life shall fall, 
And the end shall come, as shall come to all, 
In the softest, sweetest, mellow glow, 
With a pure white soul, whiter than snow, 
May my pretty child with heart of gold, 
With a love and beauty yet to unfold, 
Meet there no shadows but the going down 
Of the sun and a radiant crown, 
And long after this blessed sunset, 
Still shall she be my sweet Margaret. 



LITTLE JIM 

Little Jim is our baby, 
A darling little thing; 
She's the sunshine of our home, 
Starlight and a blessing. 

She is so demure and sweet, 
Such charming manners too, 
Her young life is so fair, 
And her eyes smiling blue. 

We love our precious baby; 
She's dearer every day; 
She thrills our hearts with gladness, 
We love to see her play. 

Her laughter is contagious, 
It bubbles like a spring, 
And little feathered warblers 
With her begin to sing. 

It is an inspiration 

To see her smiling face; 

It is a benediction 

Her manner and her grace. 

Dear child has the sweetest voice, 
And dances like a queen, 
And sets all hearts a-beating, 
With witchery of the scene. 
112 



The world is bathed in sunshine 
While Little Jim's around, 
And the flowers bloom sweeter, 
And the joy-bells abound. 

And she keeps our souls aglow 
With the light on her brow, 
And brings us a patch of heaven, 
And plainly shows us how 

To walk in a smoother path, 
And find happiness here, 
And to find peace in sorrow, 
While smiling through the tear. 

Blessings on thee, little child, 
And a fair coronet 
Adorn thy pure, snow-white brow, 
Like gold of soft sunset. 

We'll wear thee, child, on our hearts, 
As the world's fairest rose, 
For we almost worship thee, 
Sweet Little Jim, God knows. 



113 



SLEEP ON 

(Lines written on the life and death of Sam P. 
Jones.) 

A great and mighty man has fallen on sleep, 
And thousands feeling the loss now o'er him weep, 
As o'er their tender souls fragrant mem'ries sweep; 
Thou blessed man of God, sleep on. 

He played on human heart strings, just at his will; 
He moved dumb lips to laughter, dry eyes to fill 
With tears of penitence, and stirred hearts until — 
But thou wizard of hearts, sleep on. 

No son of the South with clearer notes pealing, 
E'er stirred multitudes to loftier feeling; 
And now at his feet a nation is kneeling; 
But, thou Prince of Preachers, sleep on. 

The years that he lived and the deeds that he 

wrought, 
Were greater by far, than this mighty man 

thought — 
More during than marble — they cannot be bought ; 
But, sweet master-builder, sleep on. 

Thy loud trumpet calls to duty and to God, 
'Mid rocking of storm and zephyr's quiet nod, 
Shadow their hearts after thou'st slept 'neath the 

sod; 
But, faithful trumpeter, sleep on. 



We'll miss thee, brother, while the wintry winds 

blow, 
And where the sweet roses and violets grow, 
For thou didst paint life with a heavenly glow; 
But, thy last picture's done, sleep on. 

Thy great fight is over, thy great race is run, 
And beautiful at the going down of the sun, 
Was thy triumphant faith and vict'ry well won; 
But, good night, Conqueror, sleep on. 



115 



LINES ON BROUGHTON'S GOING TO 
LONDON 

He is going away, 
Yes, far away 
Across the deep blue sea, 
And we will miss him so, 
When he shall go 
Across the rolling sea. 

Will he ever come back, 

O'er ocean's track, 

Come where the south wind blows? 

Let us believe he will; 

We love him still, 

But the Lord only knows. 

With a clarion note 

He always spoke, 

And stood up for the right — 

Always so brave and true, 

So noble, too; 

He fought with all his might. 

As gentle as a child, 

But he was wild, 

Just like a driving gale, 

When confronted by sin 

And wicked men, 

And the hypocrite's wail. 

116 



O, so tender is he; 

Full of pity — 

Touched by another's woes 

He is melted to tears, 

But without fears, 

He meets bravely his foes. 

He dares to speak of hell, 

Its woes to tell; 

The tortures of the lost; 

And warns men of danger - 

Friend and stranger. 

And thunders out the cost. 

But heaven is his theme, 

Beautiful dream 

Of a heart fired by love; 

He tells of the glory, 

Precious story, 

Of a world up above. 

What a sweet ministry; 

What fine sympathy, 

Embassador of God. 

He is a prince among men — 

Matters not when 

Or where he walks the sod. 

But we all shall miss him, 
And shall love him 
117 



When he is far away; 
And we shall wish him back, 
'Cross ocean's track, 
And for him often pray. 

So we bid thee farewell, 

For who can tell 

If we may see thy face 

And hear thy voice again; 

O, not in vain, 

If God will give thee grace. 



iS 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT 

Now, after all these years, 
And after all the prayers and crying ; 
After all the heartaches and after tears, 
My soul is still sighing. 

Calling the absent one, 

Who strayed from home in the long, bitter 

past, 
But he lives in my heart — still he's my son 
While the long ages last. 

When a babe in my arms, 

In that sweet — in that golden long ago, 

I gazed, smiled, kissed him and dreamed of 

his charm, 
But my heart hurts me so. 

He was so good, so fair; 

In his eyes was a heavenly beaming; 

His wet mouth, his cheeks, his smiles and 

his hair, — 
'Twas an angel dreaming. 

I saw no shadow dark 
Falling athwart my happy hearthstone then, 
But it is midnight now, both cold and stark, 
Since he's gone off in sin. 



119 



The tall trees mourn o'er me, 

And the song birds carol sad 'round my 
door, 

While the pure white stars in their min- 
strelsy 

Wail to me " nevermore." 



TO A YOUNG MOTHER WHO HAS LOST 
HER CHILD 

No pattering of little feet, 

No waving of little hands, 

No prattling of voice so sweet — 

Baby's gone beyond the golden strands. 

No sweet ruby lips any more 
Will press our own, " mother dear," 
And no tired child again will fall 
Asleep on thy bosom here. 

Thy home is lone — thy heart is sad, 
And the days go weary by, 
As thou dost sit and think of baby 
Up beyond the starlit sky. 

That little hat, those darling shoes, 
Those baby toys you put away, 
Bring back the floods of mem'ries sweet, 
Every bygone childish day. 



In vain you cry, " Come back, my child, 
And lie again on my breast." 
In vain you sit and pine and weep — 
Thy dear child is now at rest. 

Oft in the rosy evening time, 
When the birds sing sweet and low, 
You led your darling into sleep, 
And smiling, kissed him o'er and o'er. 

And still sang your lullaby song, 
While earth like heaven was seeming, 
And thought and smiled on coming days, 
Of your pretty darling dreaming. 

The skies above thy head were blue, 
Thy heart did thrill with gladness; 
Thou didst not dream of angel death — 
Thou hadst no thought of sadness. 

But in the midst of thy sweet dreams — 
Ere the hush of thy baby song, 
The angels came to bear thy child 
Far off to the bloodwashed throng. 

But in the gathering of thy gloom, 

In the falling of thy grief, 

In the snapping of thy heart strings, 

A sweet voice whispered, " I'll give relief. 



WHOSOEVER SHALL CALL 

How dull are the ears of men, 
And slow of heart are they, 
If they hear you call, oh, then, 
They mock at you when you pray. 

In vain they smile in your face, 
In vain listen to your call, 
And turn away without grace; 
Care not if you stand or fall. 

Men are deaf, so deaf to cries; 
To cries of mercy pleading, 
And too oft leave in the eyes 
Hot tears and hearts a-bleeding. 

Oh, vain is the help of men, 
They cannot answer your call; 
They are all corrupted with sin, 
And cursed in Adam's fall. 

" Whosoever," Jesus cried, 
" Shall call on the name of the Lord, 
Shall be saved," for Jesus died, 
For He saves us by His Word. 

" Whosoever," blessed thought, 
It matters not 'bout your grime, 
Shall call on Him if He's sought, 
Shall be clean, washed of your crime. 
122 



Matters not how far you've gone 
From His sympathy and care, 
Matters not where you were born, 
In heathendom or in prayer. 

Matters not about your guilt, 
Nor about your dreadful fall, 
Jesus died, His blood was spilt, 
And He'll hear you when you call. 

"Whosoever!" let it ring 
Around this old world of sin ; 
At the palace of the King 
Let him call and enter in. 

Though down to the mouth of hell, 
The ruined sinner should fall, 
He shall rise, it shall be well, 
If on Jesus he shall call. 



23 



TWO INDIAN STREAMS THAT SWEEP BY EITHER SIDE 

OF THE FAMOUS INDIAN SPRINGS IN GEORGIA, 

CALLED OOBOOTHLAPOOTHKA AND 

OOBOOTHLACOOSKA. 

Ah, many long years have passed away, 
Ah, many long years have passed for aye, 
Since the Red Man had his fondest dreams, 
Since the Red Man waded in these streams, 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

How proud and free his sons and daughters, 

As 'long the banks of laughing waters, 

And in the forest with ringing song, 

As supremely blest they strode along, 

Ooboothlapoothka, 

Ooboothlacooska. 

With bow and arrow and fishing rod, 

In the spirit of the Red Man's god, 

They roved the wild woods and made them 

ring, 
Smiled on the stream with 'bandon and swing, 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

One murmured o'er shoals so sweet and low, 
Other placid 'neath the sun's rich glow. 
But each spoke love to the savage heart, 
Each brought healing for the stinging dart, 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

124 



But the Red Man's gone, the savage child, 
His sons and daughters, with laughter wild, 
Driven out from where they used to roam, 
From forest and stream, their dear old home, 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

How dear to their hearts this fair wild wood, 

Free to wander at every wild mood; 

And the Pale Face said to the Red Man, 

"Go!" 
And his proud spirit broke ; he cried, " Oh, 
Ooboothlapoothka ! 
Ooboothlacooska! " 



Ne'er again will he come to his own, 
King of the forest has lost his throne; 
Went without mercy, went without prayer, 
Went from his own in sullen despair. 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

Still he dreams of happy hunting ground, 
Where best of earth and heaven is found. 
Red Man, dream on, may thy dreams come 

true, 
And find fairer streams 'yond the shining blue 
Ooboothlapoothka, 
Ooboothlacooska. 

125 



A LITTLE BUNCH OF VIOLETS 

A little bunch of violets, 
I pinned them on her breast, 
Of her I wore upon my heart, 
Dearer than all the rest. 

They smelt of the fragrant wildwood, 
So rich and soft and blue; 
I gathered them so tenderly, 
Gave them to her so true. 

Thought as I pinned the flowers there, 
How dear she'd been to me; 
In all the world there's none more fair 
Than my own sweet Maggie. 

The wild woods so dear to my heart, 
And violets so sweet, 
Will long live in my memory, — 
Ah, that sylvan retreat! 

The violets have long since died ; 
Yes, perished in a day. 
But the fragrance of memory 
Will linger, and for aye. 

Her voice was so tender and soft, 
That smiling face of hers 
Was a blessed benediction, 
And fit for worshippers. 
126 



You little bunch of violets, 
You never grew in vain, 
For the angels smiled upon you, 
In sunshine and in rain. 

And though you're scattered in the dust 
In valley or on hill, 

You've brought sunshine to human hearts, 
And so we love you still. 



MY PRETTY LITTLE GIRL 

My pretty little girl, 

With pretty golden curl — 

And you are all the world to me; 

Your face is very fair, 

And virtue very rare, 

My dearest child of destiny. 

Your laughter, I declare, 

As it peals on the air, 

Just sets my soul wild with gladness. 

Those pretty dimples, too, 

And laughing eyes of blue, 

Drive away the times of sadness. 

I love to hear you sing, 
You darling little thing; 
You seem to set the world in tune — 
127 



And I wait at the gate, 

Whether early or late, 

For the sweetest songbird of June. 

I'm lonely when away, 

So dreary is the day, 

'Way from that sweet fairy of mine; 

Just like the sparkling dew — 

Her life is sparkling too, 

Like an angel she is divine. 

Then laugh with the waters, 

Thy fairest of daughters, 

And sing with the lark in the sky, 

And make the forest ring 

With your rhythm and swing, 

And wake the birds up merrily. 

When the stars are shining 

There can be no pining, 

And your eyes, dear, are stars for me 

So lustrous and so bright, 

More glorious than night, 

Set with gems in immensity. 

Laugh on, sing on, shine on, 
Fair's a queen on a throne — 
Blessings on your heart of gold — 
And you scatter sunshine, 
128 



And darling you are mine, 

While all the world is growing old. 

So, pretty little girl, 

With your wondrous curl, 

Like a coronet on my brow 

I'll wear thee and love thee 

Through all eternity, 

And name thee as my angel now. 



JUST A LITTLE FLOWER 

It was just a little flower, 
So fair, so fragrant and so white, 
Was blasted almost in an hour; 
Passed with the passing of the night. 

It froze at Winter's icy breath — 
A poor, withered thing, there it lay 
And touched by its untimely death, 
My heart is sorrowful to-day. 

Just like a babe, so sweet and fair, 
Comes a smile to bless and to pass, 
Leaving a shadow o'er the heart, 
A poor, withered blossom, alas! 



129 



WHO! WHO! 

Away down in de dismal swamp 

I hears de owls er hootin' so, 

And dey hoots so loud and dey hoots so big, 

Dat dey fill dis nigger wid woe. 

Des looks lak de woods am full of dem owls, 
An' yer feels de cold chills creepin', 
An' de more dey holler and vaunt aroun', 
De more yer kin do no sleepin'. 

Not only dat yer skeered som'in' gwine happen, 
An' yer feels kinder lonesome too, 
An' yer 'gins ter wonder 'bout all yer sins, 
An' de owls keep hootin' " Who! who! " 

Some how nuther looks lak dey des means me, 
An' looks lak dey'll tell on me sho', 
An' I wonders if dey see whut I done, 
An' I wonders how does dey know. 

An' de big owl hoots in de great big tree, 
"Who! Who!" an' I say who dey mean, 
Fer de pig whut I tuk wuz las' week, 
Den, besides, he wuz mighty lean. 

An' dem few lil' chickens whut I done got, 
All tucken roosted down so low, 
Till seems dey des dare dis ol' nigger, 
Till I wuz bleeged ter, now dat's so. 
130 



Well, I keep er hearin' 'em hoot so loud, 
I wuz skeered dey done fin' me out; 
An' eb'ry tim' de big owl says "Who! who! " 
Dey makes dis nigger walk er 'bout. 

Well, den I digged up some yaller yams one 

night, 
White folks,' dat's de bes' I could do; 
Didn't mean no harm, des hongry, dat wuz 

all, 
But de owls keep hootin' "Who! who!" 

Chillun, I knows mighty well I ain't no saint, 
But yer kin beat me black an' blue 
Ef ever I let dem owls kotch me ergin, 
An' tell it in de trees, Who! Who! 



131 



THE WORLD'S FIRST YULETIDE 

The world had ne'er known a happy yule-tide be^ 
fore. 

No such benediction had fallen from the skies. 

It was discord, malediction, tears and gore, 

Long-drawn-out hate and deepening gloom as day- 
light dies. 

The wildest rage of men and fratricidal war 
Had strewn the earth with blood for the ages past, 
And the world on grinding wheels like some mad- 
dening car, 
Was rushing on to doom so frantic and so fast. 

There no star in the sky, no laughter sweet 

and wild ; 
The heavens bend with grief, the earth with tears 

is wet, 
While the fleeting years deny Christmas to the 

child, 
For Jesus had not come, no merry yuletide yet. 

One night a burning star rose in the Eastern sky, 
And all the nations saw His glory shining there, 
While " Peace and Good Will " was the angels' 

joyous cry. 
This was our yuletide, a Savior born, wondrous 

and fair. 



32 



So ring the Christmas bells! O, ring them loud 
and long! 

O, let childhood shout and wake the world in glad- 
ness! 

Let no dirges wail, but only the sweetest song 

Peal out on Christmas morn; there's no room for 
sadness. 

Lift up the fallen and drive their sorrows away, 
Dispel the shadows, pour oil into hearts that are 

sore. 
Make Christmas like heaven to the wayward to-day, 
For happy yuletide may come to them nevermore. 



133 



CHRIST-GIVEN REST 

" Come unto Me," the Savior said, 
" Come unto Me and rest, 
And if ye are heavy laden, 
Lean ye upon My breast." 

With heavy burdens on his heart 
The sinner's weighted down; 
He feels the sting of Satan's dart, 
Longs for the Savior's crown. 

For all these years the tyrant vile 
Pursued him like a slave, 
But Jesus without sin or guile, 
Is here, thank God, to save. 

O, sinner, are your burdens great? 
Are you sick and weary? 
Jesus will take you through the Gate, 
Though your path be dreary. 

If you are sin-sick and sore — 
Tossed with many a care, 
Full of anguish and evermore 
Met by an awful snare, 

Remember, Jesus holds the balm, 
And He has rest for you ; 
Can still the tempest, make you calm, 
And bring you comfort, too. 

134 



Too long you've borne this burden, soul, 
Too long you've walked alone; 
Come to Jesus — He'll make thee whole, 
And claim thee as His own. 

It matters not about the grime, 
How weary or how worn ; 
He'll take thee in His own good time, 
Oppressed and so forlorn. 

Make haste, soul; lay your burden down, 
Down at the Savior's feet, 
He'll give you rest and then a crown, 
Heavenly rest complete. 



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